


Sunflower

by vermicious_knid



Series: Then there's you [1]
Category: I Am The Night (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Gen, based on the tv show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermicious_knid/pseuds/vermicious_knid





	Sunflower

So, at three am in the morning, they part ways.

 

The city is burning around them and soldiers hover in the fog behind Fauna’s immovable shape like Jay’s ghosts.

 

She shrugs at him and says she’ll write. She hugs herself, like she’s cold. Like that big shirt isn’t enough to cover her.

 

He nods, like he believes that.

 

”Sure.” he says.

 

They say goodbye like they’re strangers, like someone who helped out with a flat tire on the road. He walks away from her, like it’s nothing. He’s not worried – she’s a survivor. Knows lot more than most kids her age – too much maybe, now. She’ll manage.

 

He manages to walk five steps before stopping in his tracks. Blue eyes staring ahead, thinking about piles of corpses on rolling hills, staring up at him. But he can ignore them for something more important.

 

”Hey kid!”

 

She hasn’t walked far, and turns around at the sound of his voice. He’s grown used to her cautious gestures, but now it’s only halfhearted. Like she either doesn’t care or doesn't have the energy to be careful.

 

”I’m gonna go grab something to eat. Wanna come?”

 

She shifts a little on the spot, whets her lips and looks around. They both listen to the faraway gunshots, the firetrucks roaming the city aimlessly.

 

”I think it’ll be safer at your place.” she says after a moment. He shrugs, sighing.

 

”I don’t have any food.”

 

The first sign that she’s a teenager after all – she rolls her eyes at his response and stalks ahead of him, brown hair whipping behind her.

 

”Jesus christ.” she mutters, like having no food at home is even worse than homicide.

 

* * *

 

They find a corner store that’s open and buy eggs and ham, rhye bread and milk. It’s only a short walk from where he lives, but he insists on carrying the bag, which almost amuses her.

 

He cooks the eggs while she slices bread with a knife she had to stand over the sink and scrub clean before using. They are quiet as they prepare the meal, none of them masterchefs but good enough for this.

 

He thinks she might fall asleep after their meal, but he’s wrong. She sits on his couch and drinks black coffee, rubs an ugly bruise on her knee like that will make it go away.

 

”He’s my father.” She says, which means so many things. He leans against the kitchen counter with his own cup, watches her steadily.

 

”I know.”

 

She blinks, takes another sip. But her eyes are screaming.

 

* * *

 

He’s just fallen asleep ( on the bed for once) when she wakes him, hovering at his side. The sunlight is streaming through the window now, and he thinks, somewhat groggily, that sunlight is her trait. She’s still wearing his shirt from last night, even though there’s dried blood on it.

 

She pokes his arm with a finger.

 

”Jay?” she whispers, again and again until he cracks one eye open.

 

”Yeah?”

 

She looks away from his face and out the window, a strange urgency in her gaze.

 

”You can publish it. I want you to. That way, when he comes back...”

 

He’s still half-asleep. That’s why he takes her hand, squeezing it gently.

 

”It’s okay honey. It’s okay...”

 

The pet-name leaves his mouth before he can think better of it. Above him she sighs, sits down on the edge of the bed and all is quiet for a moment. Even outside, there is no longer gunshots or screams.

 

He pretends to be asleep when he feels her slim frame make a large dip in the mattress, lying down beside him oh so carefully. He cannot however, pretend not to hear her almost silent sobs that follow. But he doesn't want her to get the wrong idea, to be scared of him in any way.

 

So he starts murmuring nonsense things, comforting words. Things you’d whisper to a small child who has seen monsters under the bed. But he doesn’t touch her, just keeps talking until she finally falls asleep, tears dry on her cheeks.

 

Then, after getting a little more sleep himself, he gets up, and sits down at his typewriter.

 

_Because even though it pains him to write it now, she has asked him. And he finds that he can’t deny her most things anyway._

 

 


End file.
